


the seasons always change

by celaenos



Series: take these broken wings [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2541512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celaenos/pseuds/celaenos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel, Quinn, Santana and Sam deal with real life after college, sharing a house, maintaining their relationships, parenting Beth and eventually marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone!!
> 
> Here is part 3! There should be 3 more chapters, each with a different POV coming your way. I am doing NaNoWriMo this year, but I am going to try and finish this first and quickly and count it as part of my 50k. But if I duck out for a bit, that is why.

The orchestra begins to play and Rachel smiles.

The sound is a little off; crackling with just a bit of static as it pours out of the old speaker on the wall. Rachel keeps it turned on anyway. She doesn't need the cues, she has an innate sense of each scene without hearing a thing. Something she has always had. She learns the plays inside and out. She can't help but not to. But she likes listening to it regardless.

Beside her, Alyssa groans; her fingers picking at a zit that is forming on her chin. "Of course our last night I get one. You know, I was given the impression that acne goes away after your teenage years. I'm twenty-three, and there are no signs that this is going to be over anytime soon."

Rachel sips her tea, and leans back into the couch in their dressing room. "Don't pick at it," she chastises. "That makes it worse. You can't see it. Put on a tiny bit of concealer and leave it alone. No one is going to be doing a close up of your face onstage."

"I hate this!" Alyssa says. "I still have to take pills twice a day, and do these creams. And I'm probably gonna have it for the rest of my life!"

"Which is annoying, but you can't change your skin," Rachel says. Alyssa reaches up to her chin again. " _Don't pick it!"_ she repeats. "You're only making it worse."

Alyssa slums her forehead down on to the vanity and groans. Rachel just reaches forward and rubs her back for a moment, then sips her tea. Alyssa is just nervous about it being their last night.

Rachel herself has mixed emotions about it. On the one hand, she never wants this summer to be over. She hadn't intended on doing a Summer Stock, but her professor talked her into it before graduation. A whirlwind of play, after play, living with a bunch of people she doesn't know, in Massachusetts all summer long, without Quinn or Beth. It had taken quite a bit of convincing on her professor and Quinn's part, but now that it's coming to a conclusion, Rachel sort of wants it to go on forever.

Learning an entire new play every two weeks had been more of a challenge than Rachel initially thought it would be; but it has also been some of the most fun she has ever had. She thought living and working with all her peers at Tisch would have prepared her for the level of enthusiasm of Summer Stock, but she had been wrong. This wasn't school, this wasn't community plays, this was professional theatre, with actors all as hungry to perform as she was.

Sydney and Charles finish the opening number of the show, and Rachel chugs the last of her tea, touches up her lipstick, then pats Alyssa on the back. "Stop picking at your face," she says, walking out of their shared dressing room. "See you out there!"

"I demand to stop having acne!" Alyssa yells into her reflection.

"Yep, that might work!" Rachel says cheerfully, and climbs the stairs to the wings. She taps the top step twice with her left foot, then four times with her right. Jumping up and down lightly on her feet, and rolling her neck, she breathes in and out twice. Karen nods to her and motions for her to double check that her mike is on. They stand side by side in the wings, watching Sydney and Charles twirl around an office desk. Rachel wants to peak out into the audience, but she is a professional, and reigns it in. She knows Quinn is out there. She doesn't need to check; but she hasn't seen her in person in  _two months_. "You are a professional," she whispers to herself. Karen shoots her an odd look, but she is used to Rachel's antics at this point, so she doesn't say a thing. Her cue comes up, and she smacks Rachel's ass on her way to the stage. Rachel just sighs. Karen's pre-show tradition involves smacking the asses of every member of the cast and crew. Rachel is used to it by now.

Plus, she is friends with Santana Lopez. Random acts of bodily violations are the norm in her house.

That is another person she knows is sitting out in the audience and is eager to see. Yet, her cue comes up, and Rachel takes a breath and saunters onto the stage, not scanning the audience for a second.

When Rachel runs downstage for her bow, she hears someone let out a piercing whistle. Santana. The lights are too bright to see where they are, but Rachel beams in the general direction anyway. Alyssa grabs her hand as they back up to all bow together, acne totally forgotten, grinning just as widely as Rachel. They giggle as they run backstage and down to their dressing room; shedding their costumes and yanking on sweats. The dressing rooms are chaos, everyone celebrating to another successful, sold out summer. Rachel feels like she is vibrating. She crams her things into a pile and follows Alyssa out to the lobby, scanning the people for her friends. Her eyes land on every blonde head, looking for the one that belongs to her.

A high-pitched scream of, "Rachel!" causes her to whip around. Beth, dressed to the nines in a pale blue sundress, with her hair done up into two braids, comes sprinting down the hall, shoving people out of her way as she goes. She doesn't slow down, and catapults herself into Rachel's waiting arms. While she is still incredibly tiny for a six year old, the force of her knocks Rachel backwards into Charles. He keeps her upright with a laugh and Rachel gets a better grip on Beth as Quinn appears in front of her. Rachel immediately moves forward and kisses her, ignoring Beth's protests as she is smushed between them. She hasn't kissed Quinn in over two months.

"Hi," Rachel whispers into her forehead. "I missed you."

Quinn smiles somewhat shyly. "I missed you too," she lets out a breath. "You were  _amazing_  Rach."

Rachel grins. She doesn't think she will ever get tried of people telling her that—it feels good every single time—but it means twice as much whenever Quinn says it. It always feels like she really means it; rather than just something she says because it's what you say after someone performs.

"Is this the famous fiancée Quinn?" Charles asks. "I saw you briefly from a computer screen, you are much more stunning unpixelated and in person."

Rachel watches Quinn smile at him, but she can tell that she is embarrassed by the attention. Her arms are full of Beth, otherwise she would rub Quinn's back. As it is, she nudges her foot and smiles.

"You're coming home now right?" Beth asks.

Rachel kisses her cheek. "Yes," she notices Kurt and Santana come up behind Quinn. "Hi guys!"

"You were wonderful," Kurt says. At the same time, Santana says, "Sup Berry."

Beth slides down and allows Kurt to hug Rachel. Santana gives her a nod. Rachel doesn't take it personally. She'll get a hug out of her when it's less public. Quinn's hand slips into hers, and it remains there until nearly an hour and a half later, when Rachel needs it to pack up her things.

…

…

As fun as living in Massachusetts had been for the summer, Rachel is incredibly glad to be back home. Despite incredible acting opportunities, receiving her Equity card, and acquiring an agent, she missed Quinn, and Beth, and all her friends like crazy.

Rachel doesn't want to hold back on anything anymore, so the first Saturday she is back, she takes Beth out for a morning coffee date. (Which actually consists of iced tea for the both of them.) It is still warm enough out that the two of them can wear sundresses (hers, dark purple; Beth's with Batgirl on her chest) and they walk the majority of the way in lieu of the subway. Quinn is already working—weekends aren't free for her anymore—and Rachel wants a chance to talk to Beth alone anyway.

They order, and take their tea and shared chocolate croissant to a small park. Rachel can't believe how nervous she is, and ever as perceptive as her mother, Beth picks up on it immediately.

"What's wrong?" she asks as they sit down on a free bench.

"I... nothing is wrong," Rachel insists. Because it's true. "I just... wanted to talk with you about something," she says. Beth's face pinches into a frown that so resembles Quinn that Rachel can't help but smile. She is fully aware that Beth is her own person, but every time she does something just like Quinn, Rachel can't help but love her for it just a little bit more. It's even better whenever she manages to catch Quinn doing something that mirrors Beth. "Nothing is wrong," she repeats.

"Are you leaving again?" Beth asks in a small voice. "Because you only just got back. There are lots of plays  _here_. You should do one here."

"I'm not going anywhere." Rachel tells her firmly.

She knows via Santana that Beth had taken her absence over the summer rather poorly. Rachel had told her that for a girl who has so far grown up surrounded by all of them, that it would make sense that any one of them leaving for an extended period of time would confuse her. Santana had responded with: "That or she just misses  _you_  asshole." Then she hung up on her. Then she sent her a picture of Quinn pushing her away as she tried to get a shot of her breasts, with the caption,  _'_ _Y_ _ou're welcome.'_

Beth smiles in relief and Rachel's stomach clenches. "Oh, good. I missed you a lot."

Rachel pulls her into a quick side hug. "I missed you too. You and your mom." Rachel pulls back and tucks one leg up underneath the other; facing Beth. "That's... sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. Your mom. And me."

Beth sips her iced tea with a shrug. "What about you?"

"Well..." Rachel swallows. Despite her extensive research on the internet the night before, she has no idea how to go about this. Finally she sighs, and decides just to treat Beth like she always does. "Well, Quinn and I have been dating for over two years now, and generally once you've been in a relationship with someone for that long, you think about whether or not it will continue." Beth frowns at her. "Marriage." Rachel clarifies and Beth's eyes widen for a moment.

"Oh."

"I... I love Quinn, and I would like to marry her." Rachel has long since abandoned her drink and clasps her hands together in her lap, trying not to look nervous. "I was... wondering what you thought about that."

"About you marrying my mom?"

Rachel nods and stops herself from biting her lip. Beth turns away from her, looking over at the other people in the park. Her light blonde hair flies into her face as the breeze picks up, and instinctively Rachel reaches over and brushes it away. Beth's silence is causing her to panic despite herself, so she drops her hands back down into her lap. She doesn't want to think about what she'll do if Beth tells her she doesn't want her to marry Quinn.

Beth turns back to her. "Will there be a wedding?" she asks, her face giving away nothing.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Well... I don't know yet. I'd like it to be soon, but we don't have a date in mind really."

That gets her attention. "You and Mom already talked about this?" she asks.

"Well... a little. Very briefly. Not like... we didn't agree on anything, we just had a small discussion about it a while ago."

"Like how?"

"Like... just talking." Rachel shrugs.

"Well... I mean, what happens after? Like what's different about now and being married?"

"Fantastic question," Rachel says and Beth perks up. "In general, nothing really changes much. But it would mean that we agreed to be together for the rest of our lives. Eventually, we will probably move to our own place—when we can afford it."

Beth's eyes widen in fear. "What about me?"

Rachel smiles at her. "You would come to Beth. Quinn is your mother."

Beth sips her iced tea and is quiet for a minute, then looks up and holds Rachel's gaze. "If you and Mom get married... does that make you my mother too?" she asks quietly.

Rachel sucks in a breath. This is... uncharted territory. Her plan to make sure Beth was alright with the marriage was perhaps a little ambitious to take on her own. She and Quinn haven't ever discussed this.

"Well,  _Quinn_  is your mother," she says. "That won't change, but... I would be a part of your family too."

"Well, duh. You already are though."

Rachel grins at her. "Well, it would be official."

"Oh, well yeah! Do I get to wear a dress? I can be the flower girl!"

Rachel suppresses a squeal of happiness and wraps her arms around Beth instead. Beth tolerates the hug for a minute, then jumps up and requests to go to the movies. Rachel takes her hand and happily obliges; deeming the day a success.

…

…

The difference in her level of nerves between talking to Beth, and asking Quinn with the ring her fathers helped her buy is odd at first. But they basically already agreed to get married—this is just a formality and more romantic. That's the hope anyway.

She had just intended on taking Quinn to a nice dinner, and giving her the ring, but Beth changes that.

After their talk, Beth keeps asking Rachel questions about it nearly every day—then asks if she can help. After thinking about it, Rachel considers that maybe her inclusion would end up being something Quinn would really want. So she forgoes her original plan and employees Sam's help in distracting Quinn and getting her to the appropriate place on time. One of her favorite professors makes sure she has access to an empty stage in Tisch—the same theater they spent Halloween in their freshman year of school. Rachel had been a little tipsy, and Quinn had been afraid of losing her scholarship and taking care of Beth. Despite (or perhaps thanks to) the alcohol in her system, it was the first night Rachel realized her feelings for Quinn might have been more than platonic. Quinn had immediately believed in her when Rachel stated her worries about not being good enough (something she has consistently done since they were sixteen) and the alcohol relaxed her enough to roll over and kiss Quinn on the nose of all things. She still can't quite believe she did that.

Now over four years later, rather than an empty stage, Rachel and Beth have made a sign saying,  _'Will you marry me?'_  and set up a picnic dinner.

Rachel can tell that Quinn is aware something is up—they've all graduated, there is no reason for her to need to be at Tisch—but she is humoring them.

Sam pushes Quinn into the empty theater, then waves at Rachel and leaves. Rachel can feel the excitement vibrating from Beth, but all she can do is watch Quinn's face. It twists from light amusement, to realization, to shock, to... Rachel isn't completely sure, but it feels like love.

She's crying already. She knew she wouldn't be able to keep her face dry.

"Rach..." Quinn's voice cracks, and Rachel knows she is going to botch this up horribly. Santana's big advice had been, "Don't cry like a little bitch Berry," and she is doing exactly that.

Thank god for Beth. She jumps up and runs down to Quinn—who can't seem to be able to move on her own—and pulls her forward to the stage. Beth sighs when both of them just stand there and stare at each other, tears falling down lightly onto both their faces. She pushes Quinn forward, bumping her into Rachel, and they both laugh.

"Mom," Beth whines, "say yes already so we can eat. Tana and I made a chocolate cake."

Quinn starts to open her mouth, but Rachel quickly waves her hands to stop her. "Wait!" she bends down on one knee (she planned ahead and wore pants) and Beth adorably jumps down beside her.

"Oh god..." Quinn starts crying harder now, and Rachel knows she needs to make this quick or she will lose it.

"Quinn," she begins, taking a deep breath and trying to calm herself. "I do have a rather long speech prepared. I wrote it down to give to you in case I got too emotional—which is very likely to happen in a matter of seconds—but," she looks up and meets Quinn's watery eyes. "I love you," she says with a bright smile. Somehow, Quinn's smile gets even bigger. "I love you... more than I thought was possible. And I very much want to marry you if that's alright?"

"Yes," she laughs. "Yes! Obviously, yes!"

"Now kiss so we can have cake!" Beth yells, and jumps up, running over to the picnic and ignoring them both. Which is a good thing, because Rachel stands up, grabs Quinn's face and sticks her tongue down her throat. "Oh, gross," Beth groans a minute later when they are still going at it. Rachel kisses Quinn one more time, exaggeratedly for Beth's sake and grins before pulling Quinn down beside Beth.

Quinn keeps her hand entwined with Rachel's as they eat, and the bright grin never leaves her face. And Rachel feels like she is going to explode with happiness.

…

…

Rachel has already been up for over two hours the next morning when Santana stumbles, half naked and half asleep into the kitchen. She makes a vague grunt-like noise in her direction that after years of friendship Rachel is able to discern as 'hello.'

"Good morning to you too Santana," she says. Santana, in all her tank top and underwear glory, walks over and takes Rachel's coffee away. She sips it, then grimaces and passes it back over. "The definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over, hoping for a different result. I am going to put cream in my coffee every morning, and every morning you are going to dislike it when you take it without my permission."

Santana blinks at her. "Berry, it is too early for you to define things at me."

"It's ten-thirty."

Santana pours her own mug of coffee, nearly scalding her tongue as she attempts to chug it. " _Some_  of us, were kept awake last night by some  _ungodly_  loud noises coming from your bedroom," she says pointedly. "Noises, that are definitely going to scar me for life and probably traumatize Beth forever."

Rachel makes an attempt to look ashamed, but she can't quite manage it.

"I got  _engaged_  last night Santana."

"Yes, I think most of Queens knows at this point." Santana flops down into a chair and props her mug up on her knees. Quinn, Sam, and Brittany have all gone off to work, Beth to school, and Mike has an audition he left for half an hour ago. Santana and Rachel are the only ones in the apartment.

"I'm not going to apologize for something you've done on far more occasions than I have."

Santana gives her a shit-eating grin at that. "I can't believe  _you_   _and_   _Quinn_  are going to be the first people I know from high school who get married."

"I'll admit to being surprised by it as well."

"Well, Q isn't that surprising. She's been trained to be a wife since she was Beth's age. But the two of you..." Santana shakes her head with a laugh, and tests her coffee again. "Did you cry?" she teases.

Rachel makes a face at her. "What do you think?"

"I think you cried like a little bitch which is exactly what I told you  _not_  to do."

"There were  _some_  tears, I managed to keep it together," Rachel insists. Santana only rolls her eyes and begins to peel a banana. "I do have a favor to ask you."

"No," Santana says immediately.

"You don't even know what I am going to ask," Rachel protests.

"I know  _you_. So I know it will be difficult and time consuming and I won't want to do it."

"It will actually take you only one second every day for the next year or so. Not difficult or time consuming in the least."

"What?"

Rachel sighs and sets her mug down on the table. "I want to make a video for Quinn. Compile footage of our lives from now until the wedding. All you have to do is remember to capture a second or so worth a day. And if you forget a day or so, that's fine because I'm doing it too and I'm asking pretty much everyone else to as well. Just don't tell Quinn. I want it to be a surprise."

"Lemme get this straight, I just have to film whatever I want on my phone—"

"—Preferably something involving Quinn and myself. Or Beth and all of us, but—yes. Essentially."

"Sure, whatever," she shrugs. "I'll probably forget to keep doing it though."

Rachel beams and stands to dump her empty mug in the sink. She drops a kiss to the top of Santana's head as she passes her. "I'll remind you."

"Fucking hell," she hears Santana mutter as she walks out of the kitchen.

…

…

Mike gets cast as a dancer in  _Newsies_.

He comes home with the widest grin on his face that Rachel has ever seen. He's practically radiating with excitement, and everyone starts screaming and celebrating with him.

Rachel tries incredibly hard to make sure her face doesn't give off a hint of jealousy. Mike is her friend. He is an amazing dancer and  _Newsies_  is the perfect Broadway show for him. But the very first thought that pops into her head is that of all people, Mike Chang got cast in a Broadway musical before she did.

She can tell he is trying extremely hard not to rub it in her face, and she walks over and wraps her arms tightly around his torso. "Congratulations," she whispers sincerely. "I'll be in the front row your first night."

The tension in his shoulders sags, and Rachel can actually hear all of her friends sigh in relief behind her. She tries not to take it too personally.

…

…

Rachel readjusts her scarf before stepping into the coffeehouse. The weather has turned bitterly cold in the last week since Thanksgiving past; and though there is no sign of snow yet, it's on its way for sure. She orders, then catches sight of Kurt in the corner and waves to him. "Hi!" she says, wrapping one arm around him and clutching her drink in the other.

"You look good," he says.

"So do you."

He smirks and sips his coffee. "Well, good regular sex will do that to a man."

Rachel gasps. "Who are you having regular sex with? I thought you only went on like one date with that guy—what was his name? Ethan?"

"One turned into two, which turned into four... which then escalated a bit."

Rachel smacks his arm, but smiles at him. "It sounds like you're having more sex than me, and I have a fiancé I share a bed with every night."

"You can't be serious. Also, why next summer for a wedding date? Why not this summer?"

"Because that's what we decided on. It gives us enough time to save up for a honeymoon—and actually pay for the wedding. And I am serious; Quinn's job is extremely demanding. She's constantly at their beck and call all hours of the day. She comes home  _exhausted_."

"How long has it  _been?_ " Kurt asks scandalously.

"Not  _that_  long," Rachel snaps. "But, I do worry that this job is going to kill her before she has even had it a full year. Yesterday, she came home crying because she had to help remove a little girl Beth's age from her home. She said the girl kept screaming for her mother and Quinn had to be the person to physically pick her up and take her out to the car. Her mother is going into rehab, and the girl is going into foster care, and Quinn keeps having nightmares. It's not exactly a turn on."

"It sounds depressing."

"It  _is_. And all I can do is complain about my lack of work."

Kurt's face softens. The two of them have talked about this before. Both of them are having more trouble breaking into their respective careers than they would like. And Mike being a good three weeks into the start of his Broadway career doesn't help either of them to stop thinking about it. Kurt doesn't say anything. They have both reassured each other plenty of times over at this point, repeating it doesn't actually help much in the scheme of things. But he reaches his hand across the table and squeezes hers briefly. She squeezes back, then sips her coffee, and the two of them continue to discuss Ethan, and wedding details for the rest of the afternoon.

…

…

"I know I'm late!" Rachel hears Quinn yell as she bursts through the front door. She hears a scream and quickly sticks her head into the front hall. Quinn is sprawled out on the floor, groaning.

"What..."

"I fell," Quinn moans, and tries to roll over. "Really hard. On my ass," she looks up at Rachel sheepishly. "Happy twenty-second birthday," she says weakly.

Rachel walks over to her, kicks boots out of the way, and gingerly lowers herself down until she is straddling Quinn. "You're late," she says with a glare.

"I know," Quinn frowns and tries to shift a little underneath Rachel, but from the wince that flashes across her face at the movement—thinks better of it. "And my ass might be broken, but I have a present for you. And I love you. So I feel like maybe that should count for something."

"It might. Depending on what the present is."

"Well... it was gonna be the best sex of your life, but I may be paralyzed now." Rachel narrows her eyes and pushes down on Quinn with her hips. Quinn groans—not in a good way—and Rachel lets up with a worried frown. "I can still work with this," Quinn promises. "My mouth isn't broken."

"Quinn Fabray!" Rachel smacks her arm lightly and stage-whispers. "Your six year old is in the next room."

"Well, she's got to learn about sex sometime. If you can carry me to the bedroom, then I'll do lots of fun things to you," she tries to move again and hisses. "I might need an ice pack first though."

Rachel sighs and stands up, bending down to help Quinn along. "Ice pack and cake," she orders. "Now."

Quinn half waddles as Rachel directs her into the kitchen. "But there will be lots of kissing later," she insists. "It's your birthday."

"It is," Rachel nods. "But if all goes accordingly, I will have many birthdays to come. Ones where you are my wife, and required  _not_  to break your posterior, but to provide me with regular birthday sex."

"Sounds awesome," Quinn grins, then twists her face into a pained frown as Beth slams into her. "Oh god, my ass is totally broken. Why was there water all over the front hall?" she whines.

Beth's eyes widen, and she releases Quinn immediately. "I don't know!" she insists, with too much force to actually be innocent. "Is your butt really broken?"

"Yes," Quinn moans; at the same time that Rachel says, "No."

"Sam!" Beth yells towards the stairs. "Mom broke her butt. You have to come fix it!"

Quinn kisses Rachel as Santana starts laughing wildly from across the kitchen. "Happy birthday," she whispers.

Sam comes into the room and frowns. "How did you break your butt? Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

"No one knows.  _I_  didn't track any snow into the house!" Beth yells, and backs up into a still laughing Santana.

Rachel knocks her head into Quinn's shoulder. "I can't believe this is my family."

…

…

Rachel leans back against Quinn and sighs contently. The fireplace is crackling in front of them, and finally, they have got all the presents wrapped and under the tree. Beth had been terrible to get to sleep, but they finally managed it over two hours ago.

"She is going to be up at the crack of dawn," Quinn warns. "We should head up."

"Um hum," Rachel hums. Not moving a muscle. She is really quite comfortable.

"Rach," Quinn shakes her a little and Rachel whines in protest; keeping her eyes closed and remaining in place. "Rachel, our child is going to jump on top of us, screaming and wake us up in like four hours."

Rachel's eyes snap open.

Quinn has  _never_  referred to Beth as  _their child_. No one has ever referred to Beth as anything other than  _Quinn's_. Never even really as Noah and Quinn's—though everyone is always very clear on who Beth's father is—the idea that she is anything other than  _Quinn's daughter_  is... unfathomable. Rachel tries very hard to control her voice and sound casual, but she knows she fails miserably. "Our child?"

She can feel Quinn freeze behind her. "Well... yeah," she says quietly. "I mean... well Beth asked..." she trails off and this time it's Rachel who freezes for a second before she whips around and stares at Quinn.

"Beth asked  _what_?"

Quinn looks terrified and Rachel wants to throw up. She has no idea what is about to come out of her mouth.

"She asked me yesterday if... well..."

"Spit it out Quinn!" Rachel yells in a panic.

"She asked what she was supposed to call you after we were married," Quinn says in a rush. "If that her wanting to call you something other than Rachel was okay. And we talked about it a little, and she asked if she had to wait until after the wedding to call you something else, and if not, could she for Christmas."

Rachel absolutely cannot breathe. This is not an exaggeration, she is sure of it. She is trying to breathe, and it is not working.

"I..." now Quinn looks like she is the one that might throw up. "I told her it was okay with me. That's... that was what she was worried about mostly. But I told her it would have to be okay with you too." Quinn reaches out hesitantly and rubs Rachel's forearm. "We haven't really talked about... I mean, if we get married there is the option for you to be her stepmother... or..."

"Adoption," Rachel chokes out. "And I don't appreciate the  _'if'_  we get married."

"No! I didn't mean," Quinn hits her arm and grins. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I do," Rachel says with a smile of her own. "I just wanted to go on the record as disliking your word choice."

"Noted."

They grin at each other, and Rachel wants to sink right back into Quinn's arms, but she hesitates. "What does she want to call me instead of Rachel?" she whispers.

"I don't know. She wouldn't tell me. She said she was still deciding."

"I... okay."

"Okay? Okay... to what?"

"She can call me whatever she wants. Well, within reason," she adds. "I am not going to start answering to Captain Marvel, or She-Hulk or something like that." Quinn laughs and pulls Rachel back into her. "And... I mean, I never want to step on your toes Quinn. She's your daughter."

"Yeah," Quinn says softly. "But, she's a handful. I don't mind help."

"Is... this your way of asking me if I'll adopt her officially after we're married?" Rachel asks warily.

"It... is my way of saying that if that was something you wanted, that I would be happy about it. But... if it's something you  _don't_ , then I'm okay with that too."

"I—"

"—Seriously," Quinn insists. "I'm okay with either. I don't want you to feel any pressure or anything—"

Rachel turns around and quiets her with a kiss. "As you mentioned a few minutes ago, our daughter is going to wake us up in a matter of hours. We should go get some sleep."

Quinn beams at her, and Rachel kisses her again before hauling her upwards and pushing her up the stairs to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

"It smells like someone died in here," Santana says with a grimace.

"Someone  _did._ " Zach, the newest bartender says as he comes up behind her. Santana glares at him. He is an idiot, but he has been picking up on her moods rather quickly, so he interprets the glare correctly as the question it's intended to be. "I googled the place after I got hired," he explains. "Some dude killed another guy in here back in the 80s. Some big gun fight. Sounded pretty gnarly."

Santana choses not to comment on this.

Zach looks at her and shifts his weight uncomfortably back and forth for a few seconds, then shrugs at her. "Well... I'll get back out there then?" he points to the bar. Santana quirks an eyebrow at him and he wisely nods and vacates the back room.

She sighs and gets back to work. Between babysitting Zach, and practically running the place when her boss isn't here—which is all the time recently—she is being grossly underpaid if people expect her to clean up mystery sludge.

…

…

She shivers the minute she climbs out of her bed. The cold weather has been unrelenting the last few months. Spring better be on its fucking way. Santana hurriedly jams a sweater over her head and heads straight into the kitchen for coffee. It's early. Way too early for her to be awake considering how late she was at work last night—but she can't get herself to fall back asleep now that Brittany's left for work.

Beth is the only person who appears to be up, but Santana knows better. Rachel is awake somewhere in this house. The girl has an ungodly inner time clock. "Sup Lizard," Santana mutters and starts up the coffee machine.

"Hi," Beth whispers. "Everyone else is asleep."

"Even Rachel?"

Beth shrugs. "I haven't seen her. I just saw Brittany. She had an early audition."

"I know," Santana digs out the last clean mug (Rachel's, white with a gold star) and fills it up to the brim with black coffee. "She woke me up." Santana plops down next to Beth with grumpiness she doesn't really feel.

Beth smiles at her. "Guess what?"

"Hum?" Santana hums, sipping her coffee and tugging her hood down off her head.

"I got an A on my reading test yesterday. I'm one of the best readers in first grade."

"That's 'cause you've been reading those stupid comic books since you were like two," Santana says, a little fondly.

Beth beams. "I couldn't read when I was  _two_ ," she says matter-of-factly. "Sam read to me."

"Whatever," Santana rolls her eyes. "So, what's for breakfast?"

"I'm six. You make it."

"Exactly. You are six. I'm twenty-two. Which means I get to tell you what to do. And I say  _you_  make breakfast," she wiggles her eyebrows at Beth. "The whole reason we keep you around is for the free child labor. Quinn just doesn't want to hurt your feelings."

Beth makes a face at her. "The only reason Brittany keeps you around is for kissing," she snaps back. Santana grins. She has taught the little shit so well.

"She keeps me around for other things too," she says, and sips her coffee before standing to find something to eat. Breakfast is easy. She digs out some Fruit Loops and starts eating it out of the box; holding it just out of Beth's reach every time she makes a grab for it.

"Tana," Beth whines. "I'm hungry too."

"Well, you should get taller than. That way you could reach it." Santana holds the box out, then gasps as it is taken out of her hands. "Wha—"

"Santana, depriving a child of breakfast is just petty," Rachel says with a sigh. She passes the cereal to Beth and kisses the top of her head. Beth sticks her tongue out at Santana; who returns the gesture the minute Rachel turns her back to the coffee machine.

"So, you'll feed us right Rach?" Beth asks with a mouth full of cereal. Santana watches Rachel flinch at the name. Beth doesn't notice, obliviously crunching on the sugary cereal. The kid has been slipping in and out of calling Rachel by some variation of her name, or Ma since Christmas. As far as Santana can tell, there is no rhyme or reason to it. When she remembers, she calls her Ma. But more often, out of habit she still calls her Rachel.

"Beth, I thought I'd trained you well enough by now," Santana says. "Rachel's food is poison."

Rachel makes a face at her and sips her coffee.

"She can make waffles," Beth protests. "They're not hard. You just stick 'em in the toaster."

"So you do it," Santana tells her.

"I'm only six. I need supervision."

"I'm supervising," Santana says, holding her arms out to prove it.

"I'll make them," Rachel says. "But you need to eat some fruit too." Beth nods her agreement eagerly and Santana rolls her eyes. "If you want some, you'll need to have some fruit as well Santana," Rachel adds.

"I'm twenty-two, you can't tell me what to eat."

"Yes she can," Beth says, throwing a Fruit Loop at her head. Santana reaches out and snags the box from her, dumping some on her head in retaliation. "Ugh. Ma! Look what she did!" Beth yells. Santana rolls her eyes at the way Rachel's eyes light up at the moniker. Her friends are so gross.

"Santana is immature Beth, but we try not to hold it against her."

"Are you gonna make me waffles or not?" Santana asks her. Rachel dramatically pulls two frozen waffles out of the bag and pops them into the toaster. She holds eye contact with Santana the entire time. "Thank you," Santana says with a sigh of exasperation.

"They're for Beth."

"Ha!" Beth yells, and chucks another Fruit Loop at her.

"Don't throw food!" Santana yells, and throws one back.

"I'm going to take the cereal away from you both," Rachel warns.

Santana looks to Beth, who grins mischievously back at her. She nods, and they both gather a handful of cereal, chucking it at Rachel together. Rachel gasps and Beth giggles manically. Santana reaches over and high fives her. "Maybe I should get up early more often," she says. "This is kinda fun."

"For my sanity, please don't." Rachel says, as she pulls Fruit Loops out of her hair.

…

…

Santana stops walking and Quinn knocks into her. "God, San, what—"

"It's perfect," Santana whispers, looking up at the building in front of her.

"What?" Quinn follows her gaze, with a confused look on her face. "What is? Why did you stop walking?"

Santana smacks her repeatedly on the arm in quick succession. "Look!" she says, pointing. "Q this—this is the perfect location too!" she glances around the neighborhood. It's nice. Nicer than theirs. But it's not too nice that it could ever be considered prissy or a fad. Santana smiles. "It's for rent," she says as she notices the sign. "I think I'm gonna pass out."

Quinn sighs in frustration. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"This bar! I'm gonna buy it."

That gets Quinn to snap to attention. "What!?" she looks at the building with narrowed eyes. Scrutinizing it before looking back to Santana. "What the hell are you talking about?" she repeats, with a lot more bite.

"Q, I make shit money and basically run the place. I could do it on my own. I want my own place. I fucking went to business school. Come on," she yanks Quinn's arm and drags her towards the door. "We're gonna go find out how much it is."

"What! Santana, we don't have enough money to buy this place!"

Santana very much notices the casual  _'we'_  that gets thrown in there and smiles at it despite herself. It's nice to know that even if Q is gonna marry Berry next year, she is still Santana's best friend. They are still a  _'we'_.

"We're not gonna buy it," she says and bangs on the door. "I'll probably rent it. Or get a loan or something. I don't care. This place is  _mine,_ " she growls, and bangs again. Quinn grimaces at the dirt collected on the windows. Santana ignores it and presses her face to the glass, looking for signs that anyone else is around. She doesn't see anyone and kicks at the door in frustration. Quinn raises an eyebrow at her. "Oh shut up," Santana yanks her back down to the sidewalk. "Do you have a pen? I'll get the number."

"Just put it into your phone," Quinn says, as if it should be obvious. Santana kicks her foot lightly. "Bitch," Quinn snaps.

"Whore," Santana bites back without thinking. She already has her phone pulled out, her fingers furiously saving the number when she sucks in a breath and remembers. "Shit," she mutters. Quinn's face pinches and she shrugs, feigning indifference. But Santana knows better. She has only fucked up and snapped that insult at Quinn twice since they were fifteen. It's all but been erased from her vocabulary around Quinn. It's a little impressive if she's being honest. Santana doesn't filter herself for anyone. But she saw Quinn's face after her father called her that, and she has mostly managed not to use it since. Especially around Quinn. "I meant total fucking prude, who can't watch porn without blushing," she teases.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Bitch," she repeats with a small smile.

Santana grins back at her, and dials the number. "Bootless hell-hated minnow," she says as she knocks her shoulder into Quinn's.

"What?"

They start walking back down the sidewalk together. "Sam and I may have spent like two hours on a Shakespeare insult generator website last night," she says. Quinn pinches the bridge of her nose with a sigh. "It was very informative," she adds with a grin. "Thou disgorge thy glutton bosom. Henry IV. Probably a direct quote."

"Unbelievable," Quinn says, shaking her head.

"Thou yeasty rampallian flap-dragon!" she yells. "What? Oh no, not  _you_ ," she says as a woman answers the phone. "No, I want to buy the building on 27th street. Do I talk to you about that, or someone else?"

"What the hell is a flap-dragon?" Quinn asks.

Santana covers her hand over the phone. "Shut up Q, I'm doing adult crap right now."

Quinn pinches her arm.

…

…

"The economy is fucked." Santana declares loudly, and slams a clean glass down on the top of the bar. Harry makes a face at her, but only because she slammed hard enough to slosh his beer. Willy and Eddie don't even blink. Santana considers kicking Eddie's oxygen tank and making sure he is still alive, but decides against it. She is too annoyed to care whether or not Eddie has croaked.

"Everyone knows the economy is shit," Willy says without taking his eyes off the baseball game on the tv. "Why are you whining about it?"

Santana narrows her eyes at him. Willy is her least favorite.

"Because I'm trying to get a loan to get my own bar, and people who work in banks are assholes and won't give me one."

Harry glances over at her with a frown. "You're leaving us with that moronic little boy?"

"Yes Harold. You're gonna have to be nicer to Zach or you're gonna have to get your booze somewhere else. I found a perfect place, and if I have to rob one of these banks to get it, I will. I've got friends who would help me," she says, picking at her cuticle. "Puck's probably bored. He'd be game. And Rachel would help just to make sure I didn't get arrested." Santana bites her bottom lip. "You know, this might work actually."

"Girl, you don't have a stealth bone in your body," Harry reminds her. "You break about eight glasses a day and knock into everything in sight. And you clomp all over the place with those ridiculous shoes. They'd catch you before you even covered your face with the mask."

Santana glares at him. "That was rude Harold," she says. He shrugs at her and turns back to the game. She considers lying to him and saying that he is no longer her favorite. But he'd never believe her anyway.

"How much do you need?" he asks hours later at the end of her shift.

Santana stops wiping the table down with her rag and looks up at him in confusion for a second. "Huh? Oh, well..." she tries to figure out the calculations in her head, and decides there was a reason people made sure calculators were accessible on cell phones. "Like... I dunno at least 50,000. Probably higher. The place needs a lot of fixing up. With my savings, and what my parents can loan me, I've got almost enough for the initial deposit and rent and crap. It's the rest I need. Plus the bits to get everything fixed up and furnished," she sighs dejectedly. "Probably way higher."

Harry shrugs. "I've got way more than 50,000. So do they," he adds, nodding to Willy and Eddie. Neither of them offer anything to the conversation. Santana still isn't sure that Eddie isn't dead.

"Well... rub it in why don't ya," she snaps, and goes back to cleaning.

"No, I mean... I can give it to you."

Santana's eyes snap back up to him. "What?"

Harry shrugs. "I've got 50,000 I could give you. I'd need free drinks everyday for the rest of my life at your place though," he adds seriously. "But I'm not letting that moron boy serve me my beer. And if the owner tries to talk to me one more time, I may have to lay him out flat. I don't like his tone. Condensing little dick."

Santana is pretty sure her mouth is gaping wide open. It's definitely unattractive. But she can't seem to make it stop. "You..." she shakes her head and straightens up. "Harry, what the fuck would you give me fifty grand for?"

He chugs the rest of his beer and wipes his mouth. "You remind me of my wife," he says softly. "And you know how to make me a scotch the way I like it," he shrugs again. "Plus, I'm not using it. It's just sitting there. I don't have any kids, it's not going to anybody important. Might as well give it to someone I like instead of letting the government get it after I croak up."

"I—" Santana isn't speechless very often, but right now, she has no idea what to say. "Harry, you're a fucking idiot, but I am definitely gonna take your money."

He winks at her. "Get me a scotch too while you're at it."

"I'll give you a whole fucking bottle."

"Now we're talking."

…

…

Brittany is doing something fucking  _incredible_  with her tongue when the door to their bedroom bursts open. The only reason Santana even attempts to cover herself up is because it's Beth.

"Rachel won't let me eat the brownies you made Britt!" she yells indignantly.

Brittany immediately throws the covers over the two of them, which is a good idea, since Santana is completely naked and Brittany is nearly there. But it seems a little unnecessary considering Beth has seen both of them naked in some form or other on more than one occasion.

"Beth!" Rachel screams, coming up behind them with one hand attempting to cover her eyes. "I told you that we have to knock in this house!"

Santana watches, half amused and half pissed, as Rachel blindly tries to grab a hold of Beth. For her part, Beth doesn't seem phased or traumatized by this scene at all. She crosses her arms and glares at them, a tiny imitation of a pissed off Quinn. Which is something Santana doesn't think she will ever get used to. Not quite seven years later, and occasionally it still confuses her to find a mini Quinn wandering around. She thinks maybe if Beth didn't look so much like Quinn it would be easier for her. Because whenever she sees a smaller version of Quinn, Santana tends to treat her as she would the bigger Quinn—something that no one seems to appreciate. Least of all the bigger Quinn. But Beth seems fine with it, and the Lopez family has never been one known to coddle children.

"Brittany, you said we could have some of the brownies!" Beth insists, dodging out of Rachel's grasp. She looks like she might make a break for the bed, so Santana levels her with a glare. Smartly, Beth remains exactly where she is. Only moving again to dodge to the side of Rachel, who still has her hand covering her face like an idiot.

"Yes. You can have one," Brittany says with a sigh. "But they're for Sam's birthday, so save some."

Rachel opens her fingers partway and peers down at them angrily. "I told her  _no_. She hasn't eaten a single fruit or vegetable all day."

"But that's not fair!" Beth whines. "Brittany already said I could."

"Well... I'm not in charge," Brittany says softly. "You should eat some fruit and then later maybe."

Beth huffs and stamps her foot. It's nothing like Quinn, and everything like Rachel, and Santana actually  _snorts_  at the sight of it. Rachel's fingers part open further and she finally manages to get a hold of Beth's arm. "Beth, if you eat some fruit  _and_  a vegetable first, then you can have  _one_  brownie before tonight."

"No! Brittany said I could, and I am eating one  _now!_ " she stamps her foot again, and Rachel lets out an indignant squawk.

This is entertaining and all, but Santana had been about a minute or so away from an orgasm, so her patience is running a bit thin. "Lizard!" she yells, getting everyone's attention. "Rachel is in charge, and Britt and I are busy. So eat a friggin apple and get out of my room."

Beth looks ready to argue, but this time Rachel reaches out and gets a good hold of her, and lifts her up onto her hip. She is still small and light enough that even Rachel can lift her when she wants to, but Beth fights her. She's worked up, and angry, and in a terrible mood. And Santana sort of wants to slap her.

"Why is she in charge?" Beth asks angrily. "You guys are here too!"

Santana watches Rachel's face fall and feels her anger grow at the sight. "Because she's the one dumb enough to want to marry your mom and adopt you." Beth stops trying to wriggle her way out of Rachel's grasp. "And if you don't stop acting like a brat, maybe she won't want to," Santana snaps.

"Santana!" Rachel yells, her face contorted with anger. She turns to Beth. "Despite your rather appalling behavior this morning, that is absolutely  _not true_ ," she insists fiercely. "A fact Santana is well aware of. Now come on, let's leave these two alone." She shoots a glare at Santana as they leave, and Santana just rolls her eyes.

"Where were we?" she asks Brittany.

"I'm gonna take a teaching job and stop auditioning," Brittany says before Santana can even throw the covers back.

She sighs. Today is not her day. "What? Why? Britt, you're the best dancer in the world. Why would you give that up to teach a bunch of brats?"

"Because... I don't  _like_  auditioning. I like dancing. And, I get to dance everyday if I do this. Whatever choreography I want. I'm not gonna stop auditioning and doing other stuff forever, but... I think I really like teaching. It surprised me. Like how wanting a bar surprised you."

"But... I just don't want you to give up."

Brittany shrugs happily and straddles Santana. "I'm not. I'm picking the thing I like best. I don't like performing like Rachel and Mike do. I mean, I like it—but I just like to dance. They like performing for an audience. It's..." she frowns, trying to think of the best way to explain. Santana waits patiently. "It's a part of the thing that makes it special for them. It's not really for me."

"Okay," Santana says. She reaches up and trails a finger up and down Brittany's bare torso. "As long as you're sure."

"I am," Brittany grins.

"Then sounds good to me." Santana grabs Brittany's waist and flips them so she is straddling Brittany. "We've got like maybe fifteen minutes tops before Beth and Rachel fight again. Let's make 'em count." She bends down and starts kissing her way down Brittany's front. By the time she makes it to Brittany's belly button, she can already hear Beth yelling from downstairs. "Maybe more like five minutes," she amends.

"Should we go down there?" Brittany asks, shivering as Santana doesn't stop her quest downward.

"Not a fucking chance. Rach has got to learn to be a mother sometime," she says. Then she puts her own tongue to good use while Brittany begins to writhe above her.

…

…

Thanks to those three decaying assholes, Santana gets the bar. Hers. No rent. No threat of it being taken away from her—hers.

And all she has to do is give them a beer everyday at five and promise not to fuck with Eddie's oxygen tank anymore.

Well, that, and fix the entire place up mostly by herself. There is rot in the wood floor of the back room that needs to be dug up and replaced. Half of the bar stools have broken legs. It is in a serious need of a new supply of glasses. The dishwasher in the kitchen is dead as a fucking doornail. And the whole place needs a new coat of paint.

But it is fucking  _hers._

She hires a few guys to help her do the floors—because she has no fucking clue what they are talking about half the time—and someone to yank out the old dishwasher and replace it with a new one. But she gets new stools, glasses, a liquor license, paint, and goes to town cleaning the place on her own. Rachel is actually a huge help. She comes along with Santana every morning after dropping Beth off at school. She puts on one of those ridiculous face masks, shoves up her sleeves and attacks the place with cleaning supplies. After the second week, Santana finally gets curious.

"Don't you have auditions and shit to be going on?" she asks while they take a break for lunch. She nearly has to shout; the drills from the back room are constant and unrelenting.

Rachel's face does something Santana can't really interpret. Quinn probably could if she were here. She's gained quite the talent for translating Rachel's unique brand of crazy to the rest of them over the years. Santana hasn't ever really bothered to try. She doesn't see much of a point when she knows Rachel will pour her heart and soul out to her eventually—whether she wants her to or not.

"Not really no." Rachel finally says, refusing to look at Santana.

"Why?" Santana pushes.

"I... just don't," she sucks in a breath. "I needed a break from the constant rejection, alright?"

Santana frowns. If people are rejecting Rachel then they are fucking idiots. Fucking idiots who must be deaf and blind on top of it. She tells her such and Rachel's face twists into a smile that means Santana is about to get a hug. She groans and allows it for five seconds before pushing her off.

"I badgered my way into  _a bar_  Berry. The only person I know who is pushier than me is you. Don't fucking let them tell you no."

"I'm going to hug you again," Rachel warns her with a bright smile.

"Ugh. Hurry up," Santana says. Rachel pulls her into a tight hug and Santana sits there for a solid minute before sighing and putting her arms loosely around Rachel in return. She won't let up otherwise. Santana has managed to learn  _some_  things about Berry over the years. "Okay, okay, enough!"

Rachel releases her, and the two of them get back to work. "Santana? You should consider the merits of painting this place pink."

" _No._ "

"Light pink would look lovely. Or purple. Or blue," Rachel says, studying the walls.

"No."

Rachel places her overlarge yellow gloves on her hips, and yanks her mask down. She looks ridiculous. And a little adorable—but Santana will never speak those words out loud in relation to anyone, least of all Berry. "What color  _are_  you going to paint it?" she asks.

"Red and black. The colors of death."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "You have problems."

"I'm aware."

"No, I'm not sure you are."

Santana chucks a rubber glove at her head and revels in the squawk she receives in return.

…

…

Beth is armed. And she's wearing a manic grin that Santana has seen enough times on Puck's face in high school to know that she is done for. She dodges under the bar, but she isn't quick enough, and red paint splatters onto her shirt.

"You mangy little demon spawn!" she shrieks.

Beth only giggles and ducks back down behind the flipped over table she and Sam are using as a shield. "Do you give up?" Sam yells.

"Not a chance!" Rachel screams at them from beside Santana. "Come on," she directs at Santana with a hushed, fierce whisper. "You were a cheerleader. You're supposed to be athletic!"

"I haven't done anything remotely athletic besides sex in six years!"

"I am not losing to a six year old and  _Sam_ ," Rachel snaps back. "Get it together."

"Seven!" Beth yells from across the room. "I'll be seven in a week!"

"You're not seven  _now!_ " Santana yells back.

"But almost!"

"Almost doesn't count!"

"Does too!"

"Does not!"

"Does  _too!_ " Beth yells more fiercely.

" _Does fucking not!_ "

"Swear!" Beth yells triumphantly. "You owe me a dollar!"

At the same time Rachel smacks her arm and says, "Santana! Language!"

Santana smacks Rachel back as she hears the front door open. She risks a peak around the bar and sees a very confused looking Quinn. She is wearing a sundress—which does not fall under the umbrella of old, comfortable clothes she was instructed to wear—and carrying a very large bag full of takeout. "Um... hi?" she says.

"Mom!" Beth cheers. "Be on our team!"

"No!" Santana yells. "Rachel is on mine. She's your fiancé, you have to be on her team. Fiancé trumps child. You picked her."

"Um... what is happening?" Quinn asks.

"War," Beth says seriously. Santana watches Quinn look from Beth (who is nearly covered head to toe in different colors of paint) to Sam (who isn't fairing much better) over to where she and Rachel are both hiding. (Rachel has considerably less paint on her person than the rest of them due to her cowardice and reluctancy to leave the safety from behind the bar.)

"Can war take a time out for Chinese food?" Quinn asks, plopping the bag down on one of the only still clean, upright tables.

Beth looks to Santana, who shrugs. She  _i_ _s_  starving.

"Okay," Beth nods. "Temporary truce. Like the war at Christmas a million years ago."

"What?" Santana asks, dragging Rachel up with her and walking over to the rest of them.

Beth beams, always eager to show of her knowledge of something. "In World War One, they took a break for Christmas Eve."

"Chinese food seems like less of a cause for a break," Sam says, picking red paint out of his hair.

"I think it's a valid cause," Santana says, digging out an egg roll and nearly burning her tongue on it. "Besides, you guys were losing anyway."

"Nuh, huh!" Beth protests. Santana nods and flicks some paint at her.

The five of them sit down to eat. Despite the temporary paint war, the place is coming along great and should be ready to open by next week. Santana is nervous but excited. She doesn't think she has ever wanted something to work this much before. Her parents are coming for the opening. And Harry, Willy and Eddie will be there; free beers and all. Kurt has been telling all his friends in the fashion industry about it; and Sam has managed to get a lot of his colleagues to promise to show up as well.

She is pulled back into whatever nonsense Beth and Sam are arguing about and decides to reinstate the paint war. Everyone is mostly done eating, and Quinn is looking far too clean and polished for her taste. Santana catches Sam's eye and nods slightly towards Quinn; who is obliviously talking with Rachel. One practiced look to Beth and the mischievous grin she has come to know and love so well slips onto the little monster's face. Santana reaches out with her leg and quietly drags the can of red paint to her. Beth rises nonchalantly from her seat and takes it from Santana. Walking behind Quinn, she struggles to lift the can on her own, and Santana kicks Sam. He immediately gets Quinn's attention and Santana slips out of her seat. She and Beth lift up the can and Santana mouths,  _'one, two, three!'_  and the two of them scream and dump it over Quinn's head.

Quinn—and Rachel—shriek and jump out of their seats. Beth is laughing so hard she slips on paint and falls back into Santana. Quinn whips around and glares at them both. "You are dead," she grits out. Beth screams with glee and pushes Santana backwards.

"We're on the same team now!" she screams as the two of them run away from Quinn. Rachel moves over next to Sam and shields herself, sipping her coffee and ignoring the screams of everyone around her.

"I'm gonna kill you both!" Quinn yells.

Santana hauls Beth up into her arms and throws her over the bar before jumping down behind her. "Lizard, flick as much paint at her as you can," she orders with a grin. Opening her own bar was the best goddamn idea she has ever had.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's alarm blares to life and he groans before smacking it to sleep.

It takes him two more times hitting the snooze button before he finally rolls out of bed. As he stumbles out of the shower and dresses in his scrubs, he can hear someone moving around in the kitchen. The only other person who would be willingly awake this early is Rachel. Sam has told her over and over again that she doesn't have to get up early and make him coffee when he has the morning shift, but she never listens.

He shuffles into the kitchen and sure enough, Rachel is scraping some butter and his favorite jelly onto a piece of toast.

"You know you're marrying  _Quinn_ , not me right?" Sam asks as he sneaks up behind her and takes the to-go cup full of coffee. Rachel turns with a pinched smile and shoves the toast into his mouth. Jelly and crumbs go everywhere. "Yeah, okay," Sam says with a nod. He pulls the toast out and chomps on it, then, mouth full he says, "I deserved that."

"You did," Rachel says, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "I am being nice to you Samuel."

"That is not actually my name, despite what Santana tells you," he says. Rachel shrugs and sips her own coffee. He can tell from the way she isn't looking him in the eye that she wants to talk to him about something. Apparently, this is an ambush before dawn. He should have known better. "Out with it," he prompts. His shift starts at six a.m. he doesn't have time to wait for Rachel to gear up to whatever horrible thing she is going to say.

"Well... I was talking to Kurt the other day..."

Sam groans. Of  _course_  he told Rachel. He  _always_  tells Rachel.

"We're not getting back together," he says before she can finish her thought.

"But I just thought that maybe—"

"No," he says firmly. Then takes another piece of toast and heads for the front door. Rachel follows him. "Just because we slept together—"

"—Twice!" Rachel interjects. "This is the second time in the last five months."

Sam frowns at her. "Why do you know that?" he asks as he slips into his sneakers. Rachel makes a face at him and he sighs. "Of course you know that," he amends. "Does Kurt know everything you and Quinn do in bed together too?"

"What! Of course not!"

Sam raises an eyebrow at her and Rachel blanches.

"He is aware of  _some_  things."

"And with that, I'm going to work!" Sam bends over and kisses Rachel's pouty cheek. "Bye honey, have a wonderful day," he says sarcastically. Rachel smacks his arm. "I'm just helping you practice being a wife. We're only months away now."

"Go save lives and leave me alone," Rachel says, and closes the door on his face.

…

…

Sam weirdly likes the occasional early morning shift. He usually pulls one a week, sometimes two. There don't tend to be a plethora of emergencies before eight a.m. so he has a good chunk of time to kill after rounds when he first gets in.

Davie, a little boy who is scheduled for surgery later that afternoon won't let anyone touch his IV apart from Sam; so Sam makes sure to head straight for him first thing.

"Do you have anymore of your comic?" he asks with a sleep filled, scratchy throat.

Sam grins, and nods to his mother. Gratefully, she slips out to get a cup of coffee and some breakfast while Sam sits down beside Davie. "I do," he says, and pulls his most recent work out of his bag. He's been doodling and writing whenever he gets bored since middle school. Over the summer, Rachel spent three solid days researching how to start up an indie comic and tried to get him to publish his work. He successfully ignored her until she got Beth involved. Between the two of them (and later Quinn's quiet encouragement) they convinced him to publish his work online. That way, in Rachel's words, "It can remain a hobby, and won't invite too much pressure, but you can share your talents with the world." Sam thought it was probably stupid, but Rachel was focusing on everyone else in order to not have to think about each failed audition she had been on.

And to her credit, here he is nearly four months later, and he has built up quite a small following.

"You get to see this before everyone else," Sam warns Davie with a grin, "so no spoilers."

Davie nods eagerly, and Sam reads him the rest of the comic until his mother returns.

Once he has checked on the rest of his patients, Julie, his best work friend, informs him that Andrew is here with a delivery. She does so with raised eyebrows and a smirk, and all Sam can do is roll his eyes. He went on  _one_  date with the man, and it's all Julie can talk about. Andrew is nice, and Sam had a good time, but...

He had gone home and slept with Kurt the next day; so Sam is pretty sure he  _does_  have some things he needs to think about despite what he told Rachel a few hours ago.

The last two years have been rocky at best between the two of them. But, once they finally stopped trying to force something that no longer felt there, and Kurt moved out—it hadn't been  _good_  exactly—but Sam felt like he could finally breathe for the first time in months. Once the sting from the breakup lessened, and they had barely spoken to each other for months, Kurt called him out of the blue. He had had a bad day—something about work, he hadn't gone into too many details—but it had been the easiest conversation they'd had in more than two years. And it became a semi regular thing. Occasionally, Kurt would call him and complain about fashion, and Sam would call Kurt and complain about people vomiting on him at work.

They became friends again.

And then they had slept together. Twice now.

Sam sighs and gets back to work, dwelling on his possible relationship with Kurt right now wasn't going to do him any good. He sure as hell wasn't about to let Rachel or Santana railroad him into a conversation about it either. Maybe he would talk to Quinn after dinner.

"Sam!" Julie calls out, "we've got an incoming!"

"Okay," he glances down at the chart in front of him as doctors run past him towards the ambulance bay. "Bed two is open!" he yells, and follows after them.

…

…

"There you are," Quinn says fondly as he walks into the kitchen. Freshly showered and starving. He slips past her and gets himself a glass over water. Leaning back against the counter beside her, he bends down to see into the pot on the stove.

"Spaghetti?" he asks.

Quinn nods and continues stirring the sauce. "Beth and Santana both requested it."

"Requested?

Quinn's face twists. She is trying not to smile. The girl has a fantastic poker face when she wants to, but Sam's got even her micro expressions down at this point. "It was a little more like, both hands pounding on the table, shouting 'we want pasta' in tandem," she says, shrugging one shoulder. "Typical night," she adds.

"We should get them both muzzles," he says, pulling out more vegetables for the half concocted salad that's on the counter. "Oh, or those dog cone things."

"Those don't mute the dog," Quinn explains. "They just keep them from scratching and biting."

"Well, that could be useful too."

Quinn laughs and hits him with a dish towel. As the two of them work to prepare dinner, Sam can hear the rest of his friends moving around the house. Either Brittany, or Mike, or both are downstairs practicing choreography. Santana and Rachel are talking to each other (which somehow always sounds like yelling when it's just the two of them) upstairs somewhere. And just because he doesn't hear Beth, doesn't mean anything. She has gotten spectacularly good at sneaking up on people as of late.

"So," Quinn begins softly, "Rach told me you two talked this morning."

"I was ambushed," he says. But he smiles.

"I figured. I told her to stop doing that," Quinn says. She turns the sauce down to low and strains the pasta. Shaking it and running a bit of cold water over the steaming noodles before she puts the empty pot back on top of the stove. "Do you want to talk about it though?" she asks.

Sam shrugs—a gesture he knows Quinn will interpret as a yes—and continues mixing the salad together. "We grew apart," he begins. Quinn stirs the sauce that is full of meatballs slowly and waits for him to continue. "And... I mean, he was the only person I ever seriously dated. I had a girlfriend before I moved here—we dated for almost a year. But, we were fifteen. Which is a hell of a lot different than moving in together, and working, and paying bills, and sharing apartments with other people." He moves to set the salad down in the center of the table, and then rests back against the counter, arms crossed in front of his chest. "I think we needed to break up. We grew up and we were different."

Quinn turns the flame off on both sauces and turns to look at him dead on. "And now, you've been broken up for over a year and a half. Almost two. It seems like stuff has changed."

"It has, well... I don't know. We don't fight anymore when we talk. But I don't know if that is because we were always friends before we were anything else, and now that's what we are to each other; or if it's because we're getting back to something more. I don't want to go through it again," he admits. "If we get back together, just to start fighting again... I can't do it."

"Do you want to get back together?" Quinn asks gently.

"I don't know if—"

"Yes or no. Don't think about any outside factors. Do you love Kurt?"

"Yes," Sam answers immediately. "That was never the problem."

Before Quinn can say anything in response, Santana comes barreling into the room with Beth. "We are  _dying_  of hunger," she says dramatically. Sam has never told her this, because he values all of his limbs where they are, but she can give Rachel a real run for her money with the melodramatics most days. In fact, both of them are far more similar in some ways than either girl will ever admit.

" _Dying_  Mom," Beth adds, flopping herself against Santana for effect. " _Dying._  My tummy  _hates me_."

"Neither of you are dying," Quinn says dryly. "It'll be ready in less than five minutes."

"Five minutes!" Santana yells to Beth. "We'll never last!" She groans and flings her body to the ground, dragging a moaning and whimpering Beth with her. The two of them start making fake dying sounds and shaking on the linoleum floor.

Sam and Quinn ignore them and continue setting the table.

Rachel and Mike walk into the kitchen and both frown at the sight. "Are they having seizures?" Mike asks, stepping past them and pulling out cups for everyone.

"Dying of hunger," Sam supplies, and begins pouring milk into each glass Mike sets. "Is Britt here?"

Mike shakes his head. (As does Santana from the floor, but she gives her body a fake jerk along with it, so Sam ignores her.) "No," he says. "She's got a late class. You could save her some, but she won't be back till after nine."

Rachel is trapped in place. Santana has a hold of one ankle, and Beth has a hold of the other. Both of them are begging for Rachel to save them. Sam turns and looks at her. She is having a terrible time suppressing her laughter.

"Are you guys gonna eat Rachel's flesh, or would you like to get up and have spaghetti and meatballs?" Quinn asks, in what Sam has always internally dubbed as her mom voice.

He sees Beth and Santana look to each other, their shaking paused momentarily and Beth shrugs. "Ma's ankles probably taste good," she says, and bites Rachel.

Rachel's shriek can probably be heard eight blocks down the street once Santana follows suit and bites her other side.

Beth is giggling madly when Sam bends down and hauls her up off the floor. He leaves Santana to her own devices and tries not to laugh at Rachel. He deposits Beth down in a chair and sits beside her. Everyone piles together and suddenly it is a free for all as hands go everywhere. Dishes are passed back and forth, some yanked—Santana—and it is a mess of chaos for the next ten minutes. Everyone is talking over one another.

It is one of Sam's favorite things.

Once things have mostly calmed down, to the point where there is a bit more eating and muffled talking, Quinn tells them all she has some good news.

"Did you knock up Berry?" Santana asks with a devilish grin.

Beth slurps some pasta into her mouth; managing to get sauce all over her face and even some into her hair. "What's knocked up?"

"Preggers," Santana casually supplies before anyone else can. She turns back to Quinn, "You know, you don't have to fulfill the lesbian stereotype of moving so fast. You've had a kid for your entire relationship. Chill."

Everyone rolls their eyes until Sam's gaze falls on Beth's stricken face. "Uh..." he says. At the tone of his voice, Quinn whips her head around and looks at Beth. A matching look of panic crosses her face momentarily, then she sucks in a breath and slips on a reassuring face. Sam can't help but feel proud. He can still remember all the times he went over to her house after school; a baby Beth screaming her head off and Quinn crying equally as hard, having no idea what to do, and looking impossibly young.

"No," Quinn says firmly to the entire table. "No one in this house is pregnant, and no one in this house is about to be pregnant unless you have something you'd like to share Santana?"

Santana snorts and steals one of Beth's apple slices. "Not a chance in hell," she says as she takes an exaggerated bite. Beth glares at her and takes her milk as revenge. Sam can see it for what it is: Santana's way of distracting Beth. She can pretend to be as aloof and uncaring as she likes, but her methods have an actual plan under the madness. She isn't fooling any of them anymore, but they let her think she is, life is easier that way.

"I got a job," Quinn says calmly. Sam watches as everyone explodes. He is the closest, and he bumps his shoulder against hers quickly. Before Rachel has the chance to attack her.

"Nice Fabray," he says with a grin.

Mike congratulates her. Santana rolls her eyes and goes back to eating, but Sam catches the small nod and smile she gives Quinn. Beth looks happy but confused. And Rachel is sitting motionless in her seat, a smile tugging at the edge of her lips.

"What?" she asks softly.

"It's... I mean it's what I'm doing now," Quinn says. "It's just no longer an internship. My pay increases, and I get some benefits. It's really just making what I've been doing official. It's not that big of a—"

Rachel emits a high pitched squeal and tackles Quinn into a hug, knocking the rest of the salad bowl to the floor. "I'll pick that up!" she yells, hugging Quinn's neck. "Oh my god! I'm so proud of you!"

"Ugh, get a room. I'm trying to eat," Santana complains.

Sam catches Mike's eye across the table and he nods. They both pick up a handful of the plain pasta and chuck it at Santana's head. Beth yells with delight and goes to grab a fistful of her own pasta, full of sauce and meatballs. Sam jumps up quickly and grabs her arm as Santana begins to scream at everyone in Spanish.

…

…

Sam hears a familiar voice from down at the end of the hall. He turns on his heal and sees Beth, Quinn and Maleeha up by the nurses station. Beth is decked out in Captain Marvel's old costume. Back when she went by Ms Marvel. Quinn is wearing the current costume and trying to contain Beth's unbounding energy. Maleeha is dressed up as the current Ms Marvel, and she sees him first and waves happily. He waves back and watches her poke Beth in the side and point towards him. Beth lights up and runs—escaping Quinn's grasp—and is down the hall in seconds. She performs a (frankly impressive) back tuck, then flips herself up into Sam's arms. He catches her with practiced ease and everyone in the hospital lobby claps while Maleeha giggles beside Quinn.

"Trick or treat!" Beth yells happily.

Maleeha holds out a pillowcase eagerly.

Sam sets Beth to the ground and drops a full sized snickers bar into Maleeha's bag. He teases Beth with a bite sized one before giving her the real one he set aside. "Julie's got more," he whispers to the girls. They both take off running towards the break room and Sam smiles at Quinn. "Want one?" he asks, holding a third out to her.

Quinn scrunches up her face. "Do you know how hard it is to walk around in a skin tight suit and not feel fat on top of it? Plus, I have a wedding in less than five months."

Sam frowns at her and breaks the candy bar in half. He takes a large exaggerated bite and shoves the other half of it into Quinn's open mouth. "Doctor's orders," he says with his mouth full.

Quinn yanks the candy bar out of her mouth, but not before taking a bite. "You're a nurse, and a recent online comic book writer slash artist."

"I work with doctors."

"Point," Quinn says with a grin.

Beth and Maleeha run back over to them. Their bags are suspiciously heavier looking than they were a few moments ago. "Julie had to get back to work," Beth says innocently. "But she gave us a few pieces first."

"A few pieces?" Quinn asks with an eyebrow raised.

Beth only nods and grabs Maleeha's hand. "Let's go Mom! Maleeha said there's a haunted house in her neighborhood!"

Quinn makes a face and Sam laughs at her. He bends forward and kisses her cheek, slipping a second candy bar into her purse. "Happy Halloween!"

"You're evil, I hate haunted houses."

Sam merely waves as Beth and Maleeha tug Quinn out of the hospital.

…

…

When Sam walks through the front door, the house is suspiciously quiet. "Anybody home?" he calls out.

Rachel doesn't answer him, but she waves a hand in his direction and continues pacing the living room. Sam slips into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. Before he can say anything else, Rachel's cell phone rings. She nearly kills herself jumping over the couch to retrieve it. "Hello?" he hears her answer in a slightly strained voice. He ducks into the living room to find her halfway upside down on the couch. She has definitely hurt herself. "Yes, this is Miss Berry... yes sir... really?" her entire face shifts. Sam freezes in place. His fist clenching the glass of water. "Really!?" she asks again. She looks like she is about to burst, but her voice is coming out sounding much calmer to whomever is on the other side of the phone. Confused, Sam sips some more of his water and waits for whatever is about to happen. He hopes Quinn is here. Or Mike. They are both good at dealing with Rachel's extremes.

"Thank you so much sir," Rachel says, attempting to upright herself. "I look forward to it as well. Have a wonderful day!" she hangs up and doesn't move. Sam starts to panic, maybe it wasn't good news after all.  _Shit, where is Quinn?_ he thinks.

"Rach?" he prompts.

She turns her head so slowly that Sam is worried she might have torn something falling over the couch. "I got it," she whispers with disbelief.

"What?"

"I got it," she sits up now, and it is definitely excitement on her face. And her neck is moving, Sam sighs in relief. He doesn't want to have to go back to the hospital after a nine hour shift.

"Got what?" he asks.

"The part—the, I  _got it_. That was the casting director," her face splits into the widest grin he has ever seen. "I'm going to be on Broadway," she says in a gasp.

Sam's eyes widen and he yells, fists pumping into the air. Water from his glass splashes out onto the floor. "Really?" he asks.

"I'M GOING TO BE ON BROADWAY!" Rachel screams, and leaps at him. Years of training with Beth have Sam quickly dropping the glass of water to the floor and catching Rachel in mid air. She is a little heavier than the tiny seven year old, and he grunts, but he's beaming back at her. "I'm going to be on Broadway!" she repeats, directly into his ear. "Oh my goooooooooddd!" she is trying to jump up and down and hold onto him at the same time and neither is working. Sam slips on some of the spilled water and they both go down.

He manages to mostly cushion her fall, but Rachel doesn't even seem to notice that they are now on the floor. "Broadway," she says with a sigh. "It's a supporting role, but it's an  _excellent_  one. Oh my god where is Quinn? I have to call my dads— _where is Quinn_!" she shoves herself off of Sam's chest and fumbles with her cell phone. Her fingers are shaking too much to hit the correct buttons.

Sam reaches out and takes it from her. "Breathe," he orders. Rachel does. Once, quickly, then tries to take the phone back. "No," Sam holds it out of her reach. "Again."

"Sam—"

"If you hyperventilate and pass out Quinn will yell at me."

Rachel breathes.

She tucks her knees up underneath herself and beams at him. "I'm going to be on Broadway," she whispers again.

"I know," he says with a smile of his own. "I'm so happy for you."

"It's a Hanukkah miracle," Rachel says. "Oh... my dad is never going to let me forget that," she adds with a frown. Sam laughs and sits up with a slight groan. Rachel's face changes and she looks at Sam determinedly. "Sam, Hanukkah is admittedly not quite as much of an important Jewish holiday as the mass media makes it out to be, but it is absolutely a time for miracles, and you need to call Kurt and ask him out on a date."

Sam feels like he as whiplash from that change of pace. "What?" he stutters.

Rachel pulls herself closer to him and cups his face. "Sam, I love you. And I love Kurt. And you two are meant for each other. You both feel it. But he is too scared to ask. You have to be the one to do it. Hanukkah miracle."

Sam frowns. "I'm not Jewish."

"I'm Jewish enough for the both of us," Rachel says. Sam laughs and ducks his head. Rachel's grip on his face tightens, and she pulls him back up to look at her. "In less than four months, I'm going to be married, be on Broadway, and be a mother."

"You are," he nods.

"And you are going to be the best nurse in Queens, an extremely talented comic book artist, and with the love of your life." She hold her pinky out to him. "Hanukkah miracle."

He stares at her finger for a moment, then he nods, and locks his pinky with hers. "Hanukkah miracle," he says.

Rachel kisses his cheek, then jumps up off the wet floor. "I have to call Quinn, and my dads!" she performs her excited jump now. "I'm going to be on Broadwayyyyyy," she sings out, and runs upstairs with her cell phone.

Sam watches her go with a grin. He sighs, pulls out his own cell phone and stares at the first number still on his speed dial. "Hanukkah miracle," he mutters, and presses call.


	4. Chapter 4

Quinn pulls her hair out of its bun and winces. Even lifting up her arms hurts. Rachel smiles at her from the other side of the bed and Quinn flops down into it with a groan.

Rachel laughs and reaches out, loosening Quinn's hair for her. "Someone is tired I see?" she asks.

Her fingers continue to trail lightly across Quinn's scalp, and she groans embarrassingly at how good it feels. "I hate my job," she mutters into Rachel's stomach.

Rachel laughs lightly, and Quinn's face is pushed up and down from the motion. "No you don't," she reminds her. "You love it."

"I do," Quinn rolls over so that she can face Rachel. "But it is... so much harder than I thought it would be. Today, I had to help pull a six year old girl off of her mother, and into a car to be taken to foster care. She was screaming and crying and begging for her mom—who was nearly passed out on the couch—and  _also_  screaming and begging us not to take her daughter away. It... I just don't know if I can keep doing this everyday," she admits. "All I could think about was Beth."

"No one is coming to take Beth away," Rachel says immediately.

"I  _know_. But... it's hard not to go there. I'm constantly dealing with abused women and children. And helping them is so incredibly rewarding, but it's  _hard_  to be around it everyday," Quinn picks at the edge of their sheet. "It's not how I pictured it," she admits quietly.

Rachel's fingers keep trailing gently through Quinn's hair, and she closes her eyes. When she is just about to fall asleep, Rachel asks softly, "What did you want to do with social work? When you first thought of it?"

"Hum... I dunno. Help people," she says. "Help people never feel how I felt when I was pregnant I guess. It was that feeling. I didn't want anyone else to have to have it." Quinn lets out a choked laugh and rolls off of Rachel, resting curled up beside her. That didn't make one iota of sense. Her brain is far too spent for this sort of conversation right now. "I dunno," she adds, her eyes still closed. "I should open a house for pregnant girls who's parents kick them out. Quinn's Home for Teenaged Mistakes. We could have one in every state," she chuckles and tugs the blanket up closer to her chin.

Rachel's fingers still their movement in her hair, and Quinn wines in protest. "That's it!" Rachel says excitedly. "Quinn... that would be  _amazing_!"

"What?" Quinn reluctantly opens her eyes and looks up at Rachel. She's beaming. She looks far too excited for eleven-forty p.m.

"A home for pregnant teens, Quinn... you could do that."

"What?" Quinn asks. " _No_ , I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Santana would," Rachel insists, sitting up and grinning. "She went to business school! She bought and owns her very own bar! And you know the social and some legal aspects of it! And I'm sure your teacher, the X-file lady? Would be more than willing to help you out."

Rachel looks ready to jump up and start making a power point or something and Quinn really just wants to go to sleep. She flings an arm out and tugs Rachel back down into the bed. "Okay, fine," she says. "But let's start that tomorrow. I've been up since before six."

Rachel willingly slips down into the covers and tangles herself into Quinn. "This is going to be fantastic," she whispers. Quinn kisses her until she settles down.

…

…

"If my mother calls and asks me about another stupid color for napkins or flavor of cake I'm going to fly to Ohio and kill her with my bare hands," Quinn announces as she chucks her phone at the couch. It bounces and falls to the floor, and Quinn sighs and walks over to pick it up.

"My dads keep hounding me as well," Rachel says without looking up from her script. "I would have thought that I'd be far more interested in wedding details before I got cast in the show."

Quinn sits down beside Rachel and comes very close to pouting. "Let's just go to city hall right now. We can make it official and be married and not have to deal with them at all."

Rachel smiles at her indulgently. "Do you know how much my dads would flip out if I got married without them? Not to mention the fit Santana would throw if she was deprived of her chance to drink herself stupid and dance with strippers."

"I'm not doing that," Quinn says immediately. A bachelorette party sounds like Quinn's own personal brand of Hell.

"I don't think she's planning on inviting you to be quite honest."

"Oh," Quinn perks up. "Well that's one less thing to worry about."

Rachel smacks her ass as she stands up to get ready for her rehearsal. "That's the spirit."

…

…

The weather has finally turned warm enough that Quinn decides to take Beth to Central Park on her day off. The two of them have jackets, but quickly shed them once Beth decides that they should do 'cheerleading'. Which really just means flip around in the still slightly wet grass until their faces are red and they're breathing heavily. Quinn agrees, even though they haven't done this in forever. Years maybe. She stretches her body out slowly, ordering Beth to do the same. Even though Beth really doesn't need it much at all. She is constantly flipping and contorting her body into strange and uncomfortable looking positions. It's in a constant state of readiness for just about anything.

Quinn relaxes and loosens up for the first time in weeks. Between work, and her mother, and final wedding planning, she never gets a moment where her brain isn't spinning about something. She never thought that being twenty-four would feel so old.

As she runs, flinging herself through the air with all the joy of her eight year old, something in her brain clicks. It shuts off adulthood and she just enjoys herself. Her body is all angles again. Spindly, and limber, and taught. And she can make it do whatever she wants.

So she soars.

For an afternoon, she flings herself around the park with her daughter, and doesn't worry about what she looks like, or the grass stains accumulating on their clothes, or the case files she has on her desk at work, or what her vows to Rachel will be. She flips herself across the dewy grass over and over and laughs. Loud and hearty. Until she collapses into the ground with Beth on top of her, the two of them laughing so hard they can't breathe. Their laughs are coming out more like gasps, choking for air as they hold each other.

When they can finally catch their breath, they decide to go to the movies before heading off to pick up Rachel from her rehearsal. Beth is enraptured by what's on screen, and they somehow end up having the entire theater to themselves. They start sitting in the back, then slowly make their way down, and from left to right during the film.

When they slip into the rehearsal space to pick up Rachel, they manage to catch the tail end of the final number. If this is how it looks without costumes, or most of the props, and in just the dance studio, Quinn can't  _imagine_  how amazing it is going to look in the theater. Rachel catches her eye and lights up, waving them over to her once they've wrapped the number. She's bouncing up and down in her jazz shoes, her hair falling out of her bun, and there is a sheen of sweat covering her brow. She looks stunning. Quinn immediately ducks in for a kiss and laughs when Beth grimaces and rolls her eyes.

Quinn has met some of Rachel's cast mates already, but she takes an incredible joy in showing off Beth to them all. Quinn just stands back with a grin on her face next to Rachel's friend, Laura and watches. Beth looks throughly embarrassed and acts shy and ducks her head into Rachel's side every few seconds. When Rachel pulls her up to perform a little bit of the number, telling everyone that she has been a fantastic rehearsal partner, and knows all the lines, Beth looks about ready to melt into the floor. But Quinn can see her sheer delight right through the shyness. She watches proudly as Beth recites a scene she has practiced with Rachel countless times over the last month or so. The actual quick, impressed look of astonishment that slips over the director's face makes Quinn's stomach do flips with pride. She sees the pride on Rachel's face as well when she and Beth come over to collect her things; their clasped hands swinging back and forth. She slips her hand into Rachel's empty one, and drags her girls off to get some dinner.

…

…

Despite only placating Rachel in order to get some sleep, the idea of a home for pregnant teens won't leave Quinn's head. Curious, she does a bit of research and reaches out to her old professor, Ms Mulder on some things that she isn't quite clear on. After hashing it out with Santana over lunch at the bar, it's all she can think about.

Santana calls her crazy. "You want a bunch of baby mama drama  _all_  the time? Q, wasn't once horrible enough?" but there is a hint of a smile to her as she says it. And she throws a bar nut at Quinn's head affectionally.

…

…

Sam and Kurt get back together. Sam tells her that they are taking it slow. Kurt is going to keep his apartment with his roommates, and Sam is staying in the house with the rest of them. But, from the look on his face, and the way Rachel comes home from having coffee with Kurt looking like Christmas came early, Quinn thinks it's really only a matter of time.

…

…

Her mother and Rachel's fathers  _finally_  start taking Quinn and Rachel's pleads to keep things smaller to heart; and before Quinn knows it, spring is over, and her mother is calling her nearly every day about something new related to the wedding.

Frannie, Jerry, and Jerry Junior are all coming along with her mother. Judy hasn't seen much of Russell since the Thanksgiving where she and Frannie stood up to him for Quinn. And Quinn didn't bother sending him an invitation.

But there will be people at the wedding that Quinn hasn't seen for years. Mercedes, Tina, Artie, a few Cheerios girls that she's kept in semi touch with, and some of her friends from Columbia. The closer they get to the date, and the more times her mother calls her throughout the day, Quinn is really ready to just grab Rachel and take her down to city hall and end the madness.

…

…

As Quinn looks at herself in the mirror, she can't help but remember the last time she was sitting in a secluded room at a synagogue. Rachel had been the one wearing a wedding dress, about to marry Finn. Quinn hadn't known then why the feeling in the pit of her stomach hurt so much at the idea. The relief that she had felt when Rachel started panicking and begging for Quinn to get her out of there had been just as confusing.

Beth comes running back into the room—she has been going back and forth between Rachel's room and Quinn's all morning—and somehow, she's gotten a hold of a red lollypop. Probably Puck's doing. Frannie immediately snatches it out of her hands and drops it into the trash, ignoring Beth's protests.

"You'll mess up your dress," she says with finality that Quinn is a little jealous of. Frannie has taken to motherhood like she takes to most things: annoyingly well. She hasn't said anything, but Quinn has noticed that her dress is just a little snug around her belly. Quinn is pretty sure that Frannie is going to call her in a few weeks time, gushing about some good news.

Frannie turns and catches Quinn's eye in the mirror. Her face softens into a smile that Quinn so rarely got to see as a child, and she returns it nervously.

Beth, forgetting about her candy, bounds over to Quinn. "Ma wants to see you," she says, reaching up to play with Quinn's hair before Frannie slaps her hand away. She pouts at her aunt, and leans into Quinn. "She's freaking out," she says with a devilish glint in her eye. Santana has infected her child into taking a sick delight in other people's pain. Quinn is going to banish her from being her maid of honor. The words are on the tip of her tongue, but instead she only glares at her through the mirror. Santana smirks back.

"Freaking out how," Quinn asks. Rachel freaking out is a normal event. The level to which she is freaking out is what she needs to know how to deal with. Some panicking is fine; about to call of her wedding for the second time in her life is... not fine. Quinn won't be able to handle that. Not at all.

Beth shrugs nonchalantly. "I dunno, she wants to talk to you. She's not crying or singing to herself, so she's probably fine."

Frannie frowns. "She cries and sings to herself?"

Santana steps forward and tugs Beth away from Quinn. "Sometimes," she says. "Want us to send her in here?"

"Please!" Quinn hears Rachel yell from the hallway. "Close your eyes! Mine are already closed."

Quinn can hear Kurt arguing with Rachel in the hallway. Their voices are muffled, but she catches,  _'bad luck'_ , and  _'shouldn't have hit me and ran_ ', and sighs. She looks up and catches Santana's eye. Without a word, she directs Beth out the door, and pulls Frannie and Judy along with her, their protests completely ignored.

"Close your eyes!" Rachel yells and Quinn does just as Rachel slips into the room.

"I can't just sit here with my eyes closed Rach."

"Stand up and turn around," she orders. "Away from the mirror!"

Quinn blindingly rises and shuffles forward, her hands out in front of her to steady herself. Rachel grabs her and hugs her tightly before turning her around. They stand back to back, hands grasped and open their eyes. "Are you calling off the wedding?" Quinn asks, because she can't help the words from slipping out of her mouth.

"What!" Rachel shrieks. " _No!_  No, absolutely not!" her voice drops, "wait, do  _you_  want to?" she asks, anguished.

" _No!_ " Quinn yells. "I just... the last time we were in this situation..."

Rachel scoffs. "I was  _eighteen_ , and about to make a horrible mistake and realized it. Quinn, does any part of you  _honestly_  believe that I don't want to marry you? Because I need to make that part of you sure.  _I can't wait_ ," she gushes softly. And Quinn's entire body tingles. "I want us to be married already and go off on our honeymoon. I just... I needed to see you," she admits. "I got nervous."

Quinn squeezes her hands and lets out a small laugh. " _The_  Rachel Berry? Nervous?" she fakes a scoff, "I never thought I'd see the day."

Rachel laughs and tugs one of her hands back to smack Quinn with. "Shut up," she pouts. "I get nervous all the time."

"I was too," Quinn admits, leaning back against Rachel.

"Was?" Rachel asks. Quinn can't see her face, but she can't easily see the smile that is slipping onto it from her voice.

A smile breaks onto Quinn's face. "Yeah, not anymore though. Let's go get married."

Rachel squeals happily and nearly turns around to hug her before remembering and whipping her body back around. "Let's go get married," she agrees.

…

…

Sam walks her down the aisle. It takes far too long, and by the time she's up there beside Rachel she feels dizzy. Santana hisses at her to fucking breathe from somewhere behind her, and Quinn watches the rabbi's eyes widen. After that, she doesn't remember a single thing except that Rachel looked beautiful, and at some point, she crushed a glass with her foot, Beth and Santana whooped loudly, and she kissed Rachel while flashbulbs went off in her face.

…

…

Santana embarrasses her throughly during her speech; going on and on about all the signs that Quinn has been in love with Rachel probably since before she managed to get herself knocked up. Quinn groans, and slams her head into Rachel's shoulder, to the sheer delight of everyone in the room.

The speeches from Rachel's fathers, Kurt, and Judy are much kinder, but somehow, still embarrassing. Quinn is thrilled when everyone goes back to eating and stops looking at her.

…

…

She glances at some of the presents piling up as she goes for a second piece of cake and she sees familiar handwriting. She freezes, sensing someone walk up behind her and unprepared for how her face is going to look. A hand falls to her shoulder and she relaxes once she realizes who it is. Frannie looks down at the present fondly. "It's really from him," she says. "I didn't pick it, neither did Mom."

Quinn turns to look at Frannie's face, needing to be sure she isn't lying. Frannie nods. "I—" Quinn chokes.

"I don't know if he'll ever change Quinn," Frannie says with a shrug. "Or even if he does, if he'll ever earn the right to have your forgiveness. But, he asked me to make sure that you got this, and I promised him I would." Frannie's fingers trail up and down Quinn's arms. She's shivering. "I don't know what it is."

Quinn just nods and pulls her hand back from the present. Whatever it is her father has sent her, it's not something she needs to see right now. Frannie squeezes her, and the two of them walk back to the head table with their cake.

…

…

She spends the majority of the night happily dancing in Rachel's arms, but she also gets in a dance with each of Rachel's fathers, (Leroy kisses her cheek and tells her that he is delighted to be a grandfather so young) and one each with Sam, Mike, Kurt, Santana and Brittany, and Puck.

Beth spends the night running around between dance partners and eating far more than she should ever be allowed. Between her, Puck, and Santana, a firecracker is let off at some point, and some linen catches on fire sometime after that. Quinn doesn't care enough to yell at them. Instead, she kisses Rachel for the millionth time that night, and eats some more chocolate covered strawberries.

…

…

She kicked off her shoes hours ago, and she and Rachel are both a little sweaty and grinning at each other madly. The music is thumping and Quinn can feel it everywhere in her body. She's tangled with Rachel, and surrounded by all her friends. Santana bumps into her, twirling Brittany around before spinning her back. Sam and Kurt are both bopping out of time to the music, barely keeping up and not caring one bit. Mike, Puck, Tina, and Mercedes, have managed to choreograph something in the last five minutes; and they are dancing circles around everyone. Beth is laughing from Puck's shoulders as he twirls her around. And Quinn wants this night to go on forever.

…

…

Quinn slumps down happily into her chair for a moment. Catching her breath after being spun around the room by Brittany. She's lost track of both Rachel and Beth, and scans the room for them. Her wife and daughter. She grins, still not used to the new moniker. She has a wife and daughter.

And they're together.

Rachel is still on the dance floor, her dress a little disheveled, but still hugging her every curve flawlessly. She kicked off her shoes hours ago when Quinn did, and her hair is starting to slip out of its intricate half up do. Beth is far worse off. There is a bit of something that looks suspiciously like pasta sauce on the front of her dress, and her hair was yanked out of its styling long ago.

The two of them are holding hands, dancing around each other, wearing matching grins on their faces. Quinn just watches them for a moment unnoticed. Then, Rachel looks up, as if sensing her and catches her eye. Her grin widens, and she blows Quinn an exaggerated kiss before spinning her body into a ridiculous dance move. Quinn can hear Beth laughing from her seat and doesn't bother resisting the urge herself. Rachel holds her arms out, and Beth spins herself into her, and Quinn watches her family and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that folks, is the end!... kind of. as some of you may know, i am going to write a one-shot set about 5 years into the future, and THAT will finally and truly be the end. i have it all plotted out, BUT, i am very behind on NaNo, and i have a lot of things i've committed to/want to do for yuletide and like things. so, almost definitely, that final one-shot won't be finished or up until after the holidays. i am very excited about it though, and eager to write it, so i hope you look for it!


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